Those sticklers for the law cannot hide their thoughts when they see its weakness, and they shamelessly disclose their secret selves.
On the Holy Hill a certain merchant, who was a noted traveler and who described his pilgrimages in holy places in clerical papers, was preaching to the crowd humility, patience and kindness.
He spoke warmly, even to tears. He entreated and he threatened, and the crowd listened, silent and with bowed heads.
I interrupted his speech and asked him "if open lawlessness should be suffered also."
"Suffer it, my friend," he cried; "undoubtedly suffer it. Christ himself suffered for us and for our salvation."
"How then," I answered, "about the martyrs and the fathers of the church? For instance, take St. John Chrysostom, who was bold and accused even kings."
He became enraged, flared up at me and stamped his feet. "What are you chattering there, you blunderer? Whom did they accuse? Heathens!"
"Was Eudoxia a heathen, or Ivan the Terrible?"
"That is not the point," he cried, waving his arms like a volunteer at a Are. "Do not speak about kings, but about the people—the people, that's the important thing. They are all sophisticated, and have no fear. They are serpents which the church ought to crush; that is her duty."
Although he spoke simply, I did not understand at this time what all this anxiety about the people was, and though his words caused me fear, I still did not understand them, for I was spiritually blind and did not see the people.